Panic
by SoulMalady
Summary: After being pulled out of the depths of Hell, Dean has a hard time dealing with dark memories and sleep. Castiel wants to help him grow stronger.


Dean shut the door behind him, taking care to keep quiet. Sam was inside, fast asleep after a good hunt. Patting his pocket absently to make sure that he still had his room key, the older Winchester brother made his way to his car. His shoes dragged along the cracked cement, echoing his tiredness and rivaling restlessness. He wouldn't be able to sleep tonight. So he might as well go for a drive.

He slid into the welcoming seat of his beloved Impala and sat there for a minute, eyes shut and head back. Where to? Maybe a diner… After making a quick mental check on the location of his gun, he started the engine.

He had no idea how long he had been driving for or how many songs he had played through on the cassette. It could have been hours or just a handful of minutes. He suddenly found himself in the middle of an empty parking lot, crippling panic making him slam on the brakes and screech to a halt. This was all wrong. He gripped the steering wheel, trying to calm himself down. But he couldn't. He was all wrong. He shouldn't be here, not after all that he had done.

He grappled at the door, trying to get it open. It was too hot, too sharp, too narrow. He had to get out. His vision turned black around the edges as he started hyperventilating. He felt like he was about to die. He wanted to die.

The door shot open.

He toppled out of the driver's seat and sank to the ground, trembling and disoriented as he leaned against the worn tire of his car. "It wasn't worth it," he mumbled at Castiel who had appeared before him. "You shouldn't have brought me back. Why did you bring me back?" He wrapped his arms around his unsettled stomach and struggled to breathe through his panic. Weeks of exhaustion and nightmares caught up to him in that instant. It was all happening in his head. It was happening all over again.

He slammed the back of his head against the car, trying to push the thoughts out. But the pain simply got worse. Nothing could save him. He wasn't supposed to be saved.

Castiel pressed his fingers to Dean's forehead, putting him out of his misery for the moment.

When he came to, he was dipping into his pillows without a sound, half-asleep. Through his drooping eyelids he saw Castiel standing at his bedside, obscured by the lack of light. They were back at the motel. He rested his arm over his eyes and breathed slowly. "Where's the car?"

"It's here."

"Okay."

Castiel wasn't really sure what to do now. He watched Dean for a minute, then started to feel a little useless just standing there. How did people sleep? "Ah," he murmured to himself when he recalled the motions. He reached down and carefully pulled the blanket out from under Dean.

Dean frowned and moved his arm to see what was up. He found Castiel tugging at the sheets, which confused him for a moment. "What?" he mumbled.

"You will feel cold," Castiel said. He gave the tucked blanket one last tug to pull it out from under Dean's feet and then slid it over him, dragging it up to his chin. "There." He smoothed some wrinkles with a few strokes.

Dean smiled at the gesture. "Really?" He curled into the blanket nonetheless. "Thanks."

Castiel watched him like before, just for a minute. Then he glanced at the other bed where Sam hadn't woken up despite their quiet whispers and rustling. He walked over to the younger Winchester and watched him sleep for a minute too. After he got bored of that, he went to the window, pulled the blinds back an inch and peered outside. Soon the room was filled with soft snoring.

When he had found Dean in that empty parking lot a few minutes ago, he had been alarmed. He hadn't realized how tortured the man was. He had gone pale and cold, rambling nonsensically until he was allowed to faint away. Castiel brushed his hand against the fog he had made on the glass. Why was he thinking about hell? He should be rejoicing in escaping the agony instead of falling into a pit of memories. Trying to drown himself in hunting obviously wasn't a good solution either.

Castiel sighed. What to do... He shrugged his raincoat off and threw it onto the couch. He should stay here. He had to make Dean stronger. He moved near Dean's bed again. He couldn't imagine the horrors that mind had experienced at the hands of demons. When he slept, none of that showed. He looked peaceful instead, creases barely visible on his forehead. Castiel wished he could sleep like this as well. Then he would also not have to worry about his duties for just a little while.

He sat down on the edge of the bed. Dean was once strong. He was still strong, but memories weakened him. But he had felt the strength the moment he pulled the man out of the depths of Hell. Michael's vessel, capable of killing with mercy, strong sense of justice… Broken.

"Dean?"

"Hmm?"

"Are you feeling better now?"

"Mhm."

He examined the back of Dean's head. There was nothing spectacular about it, but still… He reached forward hesitantly and brushed his fingers against short, dark hair. Dean tsked and squirmed away, but there was only so far he could move without toppling off the edge of the narrow bed.

Castiel pulled him closer.

"Oh, come on, man," he sighed. "What now?" He flipped over to face the angel. He could hardly see straight, wanted nothing more than to drop off into restless sleep, and yet he found himself awakened just as he was nodding off.

"Your nightmares… Why don't you think about happier things?"

He scoffed in derision. "That's me. Full of happy things."

"You cannot rest when you have nightmares."

"What do you know? You _don't_ sleep." He had shared nights with nightmares for as long as he could remember. "See?" He ducked his head and closed his eyes. "Piece of cake."

He was plunged into darkness once again. The darkness wasn't just from the absence of light. It was as though a thick veil was pushing into him, enveloping him in oppressive blackness, paralyzing him. It was familiar, this weight on his mind and at the back of his eyes. It was almost always black in his dreams. It was the noises that made it terrifying. The screaming and pleading and ripping and pounding… Even though he couldn't see the blood on his hands, he could feel it. Sticky, caked. The things he had done in Hell, the souls he had hurt, it all came back in the haze of darkness. The satisfaction he felt scared him more than anything – the satisfaction of knowing that he was finally in control. Finally able to get away from pain by simply inflicting pain. Blood everywhere. Black blood. Demon blood.

"Dean."

He jolted awake, thrashing against the darkness.

But it wasn't darkness that was forcing him against the mattress.

Castiel had him pinned to the bed. Straddled at the hip, his arms were splayed out either side of him, pushed down by strong hands. He stared up in fright, his voice caught in his throat.

"Stop," the angel ordered him. "Stop dreaming."

He couldn't.

He couldn't move. His arms and legs were too heavy, like lead. Being trapped this way-

He squeezed his eyes shut as a strangled breath escaped him. It was like being back on the rack. Not just darkness. Mindless torture and agony too.

It was Hell.

He shouldn't have shut his eyes…

"Please," he mumbled shakily. He struggled to pull himself back to the present. He wasn't on the rack. He wasn't helpless. He wasn't alone. He had to hold onto that. He may be broken, but he'd be damned if he let the memories drown him like this. "Don't touch me."

Castiel acknowledged his plea without complaint. He let go and picked himself up on his hands and knees.

Dean could breathe easier now that the weight had vanished from his chest. His limbs still remained unmoving, but at least he could breathe…

"I won't touch you."

They stayed that way for a long while – Dean pulling himself away from the brink of another panic attack and Castiel watching over him. Once again the room was silent but for the sound of quiet snores. Never-ending night. Everything was so much more obscure in the dark. Everything was unsettling, even the muted sounds of crickets outside.

"But you can touch me."

Dean rolled his hips up off the bed and knocked an arm into Castiel, pushing him off balance. In synchrony, they switched positions. Not one breath passed before their lips melded together. His arms and legs weren't lead anymore. They were vibrating with pent up energy instead. They were moving without his knowledge, trembling in anticipation. His fingers scrambled to take hold of anything – hair, fabric, skin, anything.

And if Castiel had responded with his usual indifference, he would have stopped the madness.

But he couldn't because Castiel wasn't being indifferent.

He moaned in defeat when the angel gripped the back of his shirt, trying to pull him closer but still so careful not to startle him. He reached behind him and took hold of Castiel's wrist, moving it down towards the small of his back. Castiel understood and allowed his arms to wind around Dean.

He dragged his fingers through Castiel's hair, holding him steady, while the other hand slid down his shirt, snagging on the buttons. He could have wept at the intimacy he hadn't felt in what had to be a lifetime. Holding someone this way… He had been scared. He didn't want to become a monster. He didn't want to hurt.

"Shit, Dean…"

They froze.

Sam groaned as he kicked the sheets off. "Wait 'til I'm out of the room, you idiot." He staggered blindly out of bed, scrambled to get his shoes on and practically ran out of the room, barely grabbing the keys before slamming the door shut behind him.

Dean blinked down at Castiel, as though suddenly aware of what he was doing. His stillness returned and a familiar weight crept into his stomach. "Damn it," he swore as he eased himself up. He thanked whatever sadistic God was up there that the room was dark enough so Sam didn't see who he had been fumbling with. He must be going insane. To be doing something like this, he _had_ to have gone insane. "Ugh." He started to get up.

Castiel didn't let him.

He was pulled close instead.

Their breath mingled for a tense moment.

Then Castiel murmured, "What should I do…?"

"It's not that-"

"Because I will wake you."

"… It's not that easy, Cas."

"Trust me, Dean. Don't hurt anymore…"

When he opened his eyes, sun was streaming through the thin curtains at the window. He frowned against it. It was later than usual. He searched for the alarm clock on the bedside table. He struggled to see the time through his groggy daze. Past nine. He jolted upright. Past nine? He whipped his eyes at Sam's bed. Empty. He pushed the sheets away, got out of bed while swaying dangerously and then stumbled to the front door, yanking it open.

He sagged with relief when he saw his brother in the Impala, fast asleep in the passenger seat.

Not yet ready to wake him up, Dean closed the door and leaned against it, eyes shut. What happened last night? He couldn't remember. He thought he recalled taking a drive and speaking to Castiel. It was vague though, like a hint of a dream. But when did he fall asleep? _How_ did he manage to sleep?

He padded to the bathroom, scratching his head. Maybe he had drank himself to sleep. Whatever the case may be, he felt different. He let some water run out of the taps and checked his reflection out. He looked a little better too. He rubbed his stubble. "Hmm."

Sam jolted awake and frantically wiped the drool out of the corner of his mouth as the driver's door was yanked open. He blinked blearily at his brother who slid in, hair still damp from a very recent shower. "What's going on?" he garbled.

"Breakfast," Dean said decisively. "I feel like some bacon. You?" He started the Impala and it roared to life.

Sam glanced at his watch. "Holy crap!" It was nearly ten.

"Let's take it easy today."

"Uh… Okay…?"

"We've earned a day off."

He sat up with a yawn. "Whatever you say." He liked days off. "Pancakes sound good. And _you_ are paying." He glanced at Dean pointedly.

"Sure."

"Yeah?"

"My treat," Dean agreed.

Sam smirked. "Okay. Cool."


End file.
